


Or Write It As You Will

by a_question_of_love (roseandheather)



Category: Pundit & Broadcast Journalist RPF (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseandheather/pseuds/a_question_of_love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith's had a bad day. Anderson makes it much, much better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Or Write It As You Will

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, uh... I have no excuses for this.
> 
> Fortunately for all of you, I also don't care. :)
> 
> Before you read this, I highly suggest you watch Keith's [Special Comment](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ChanTFSmqao) about Proposition 8, filmed in November 2008; this fic takes place that same day. It's about the most ridiculous, sloppy, sappy fluff I can come up with, featuring vulnerable!Keith and caring!Anderson and enough sugar to give you diabetes.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy. :)

Keith looks _exhausted_.

"Hey," Anderson says quietly, relieving the older man of briefcase and suit jacket both before enveloping him in a hug. Keith goes without complaint, burying his face in Anderson's shoulder, wrapping sturdy arms around his waist and doing the closest thing to 'clinging' that Anderson has ever seen from him. "You okay, baby?"

Keith looks up at him, gray eyes duller than usual, and when Anderson goes to squeeze his shoulder in sympathy he actually flinches.

"Sorry," he whispers, but Anderson just shakes his head.

"God, no, don't - but seriously, Keith, when was the last time you got a decent backrub?"

At that, Keith actually laughs, bitter though the sound is. "God," he says after a moment, "I don't even know. Years?"

That, as far as Anderson is concerned, is quite enough of that. "Right," he says briskly. "I'll be fixing that, then."

"You don't have to - " Keith protests, but Anderson pays him exactly no attention at all as he tugs Keith toward the bedroom.

"Lie down," he says gently, and it's a mark of how exhausted he is that Keith just nods and starts stripping.

By the time Anderson makes it back with a tube of lotion - plain, everyday stuff, nothing fancy - Keith is sprawled facedown on the bed, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. Anderson doesn't even ask for by-your-leave, just warms the lotion in the palm of his hands, grips the join between neck and shoulder, and digs in.

Keith flinches, then expels a long breath, and Anderson digs his thumbs into the rock-hard muscles of his neck and shoulder. The muscle gives, but slowly, and Anderson fills the silence with soothing chatter, more as a distraction than anything. "You were superb tonight," he murmurs, working on his shoulderblades now. "I mean it, babe, you were _spectacular._ I've never -"

And here, Anderson's voice catches. He can't help the hitching, or the sob, or the way his eyes fill with tears. "I've never been so proud," he tries again. "But I did want to ask - one thing."

"Anything," Keith murmurs, sleepiness already slurring his voice.

"You said," Anderson goes on, thumbs pressing in next to his spine and drawing a gasp from the man beneath him, "that you weren't gay. And I was just wondering..."

Keith chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. "I said I'm not gay because I'm not." He twists his head to the side, propping himself up on his elbows long enough to meet Anderson's eyes. "It's only ever been you, Andy. I was straight as an arrow until I met you, and I'd have stayed that way if our paths had never crossed. It's just _you_. I'm not going to claim that mantle when I've never had to endure any of the pressure or hardship associated with it."

Out of his control, Anderson's thumbs dig in sharply at the muscles surrounding the bottom of his ribcage, and Keith drops back to the mattress with a yelp as Anderson does his best not to cry. "Goddammit," he rasps at last, and then all he can say after that is, "I love you."

"Mutual, babe - God, please don't stop!"

So he doesn't. He works rock-hard muscle loose and limber, feels Keith shuddering and melting and whimpering under his hands. One particular spot at the small of his back draws a long, low moan from deep in his chest, and Anderson figures out damn quick that most of Keith's tension is being held there.

By the time he finishes, Keith is crying quietly, and for all he knows it's just a reaction to the release of tension, Anderson can't help but reach out and wipe the tears from his cheek. "C'mon, baby," he says gently, "roll over for me." With a groan, Keith does; his cock is rock-hard and leaking through his shorts, but Anderson doubts his lover is up for sex tonight. "Hey, think you could stay awake long enough for me to suck you off?"

Keith slants a glance at Anderson, whose erection is tenting his own jeans, but Anderson just shakes his head. "Not today, baby. If you really want to, you can return the favor tomorrow, but don't worry about it, okay? Tonight is about you." Keith's eyes drift shut as he smiles, and Anderson takes that for an answer; he swallows Keith down in one stroke, and half a minute later Keith is coming in his mouth, his body going from relaxed to totally limp as the arousal bleeds out of him.

Gently Anderson kisses his cheek, draws the covers up over his shoulders, and heads for the bathroom.

He makes it back five minutes later, to find Keith curled up on his side. With a fond smile, he tucks himself against the curve of Keith's chest, one heavy arm draping over his ribs and holding him close. A lazy kiss finds the back of his neck, and he just smiles.

"'So I be written in the Book of Love,'" he whispers, and his grin blossoms into a full-fledged smile as Keith's voice joins his, "'...I do not care about that Book above. Erase my name, or write it as you will, so I be written in the Book of Love.'"

"'So I be written,'" Keith murmurs again, and tugs him closer. Soon his chest is rising and falling in the deep, relaxed pattern of sleep, and Anderson has just enough time to press a sloppy kiss to the hand holding his before he, too, is out like a light.


End file.
